


The Ties That Bind

by SwissMiss



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Weddings, implied asexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 20:29:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3461006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwissMiss/pseuds/SwissMiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John enjoy a few moments together before their wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ties That Bind

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Round 5 of LJ's come_at_once porn challenge, using the prompt 'suit and tie' given by mazarin221b. Lightning-fast beta read by jagnikjen.

**The Ties That Bind**

  
John made an amused huffing sound as he closed Sherlock's tie pin.  
  
Sherlock cocked an eyebrow and looked down at John suspiciously. "What?"  
  
John shook his head, his mouth twisting wryly. "Nothing, just..." He stuffed Sherlock's pale blue tie back down inside his cream-coloured waistcoat and smoothed the material then cleared his throat. "Déjà vu, I guess."  
  
"Ah," Sherlock said.  
  
John watched his hand where it rested against the off-white material of Sherlock's shirt, which matched his own. 'Bone' was the actual shade, according to Sherlock's tailor. Their suits were 'ash'. John had half-expected him to suggest blood-red ties as their accent colour, but Sherlock had leapt in with the blue, so at least they didn't look entirely like a crime scene.  
  
John raised his eyes to Sherlock's. "Last time it was you fixing my tie pin, trying to talk me down off the ceiling."  
  
Sherlock lifted his hands to put them on John's elbows and squeezed gently. They had been too shaky to work the fiddly tie pin clasp just moments ago, but they felt firm and solid now.  
  
"I know you didn't want all this fuss and to-do," John said. "But-"  
  
"It's fine, I understand," Sherlock cut him off, although not with any heat. "You want to show everyone you really mean it."  
  
"And that this is just as important as my first go-round. More important, in fact. I would have rented out St. Paul's if I could afford it."  
  
"You don't need to prove anything to me."  
  
"Yeah, I do. _I_ need to prove it. I need this. And it means a lot to me that you're going along with it."  
  
"I'm not having second thoughts," Sherlock assured him.  
  
"Good. Me either. Or, well... in retrospect, I suppose. About last time. If I'd known what it feels like to be this sure about something, I never would have gone through with it back then."  
  
"Shut up, John," Sherlock said fondly, leaning forward to rest his forehead against John's. "Every choice we've made - both of us - in our lives has led us here."  
  
John slid his hands around Sherlock's sides to his back so he could hold him in a loose embrace. "Yeah, you're right. Wish I could have skipped a few of them, though."  
  
"The mustache was truly a travesty."  
  
John leaned back and grinned up at Sherlock. "I was thinking of the Great Freezer Meltdown of 2010."  
  
A knock sounded at the door of the vestry where they were cooling their heels until the guests were all seated. "Five minutes, guys!" Greg's voice called though the door.  
  
"Thanks!" John called back. He tightened his arms, pulling Sherlock's body flush against his. "You ready?"  
  
"Kiss for luck?"  
  
John tilted his chin and Sherlock closed the distance between them, nipping affectionately at John's lips. John hummed with pleasure and deepened the kiss, co-opting Sherlock's mouth for several seconds.  
  
"John..." Sherlock mumbled when he came up for air.  
  
John grunted and continued pursuing Sherlock's mouth.  
  
"This might not have been such a wise idea..."  
  
John made a questioning sound but didn't give up.  
  
Sherlock nudged his hips meaningfully against John's. "It's like you've got some kind of hair trigger response." Sherlock sounded amused.  
  
"It'll go away."  
  
Sherlock pushed one hand down between them and felt the front of John's trousers. "On the contrary, it feels like it's settling in for the long haul."  
  
John shifted his stance to make a bit more space between his legs. "Yeah, that's not really helping matters." He didn't sound very bothered.  
  
"We need to walk out there in front of my parents, Mycroft, your sister, and all your friends in about three minutes," Sherlock pointed out without removing his hand from John's crotch.  
  
John reluctantly took his lips off of Sherlock and tilted his head down to look at the damage. His trousers - cut tight already - were unforgiving.  
  
"Shit."  
  
Sherlock crowded in close again. "Let me take care of it for you," he said, stroking John through his trousers with intent now as he rubbed his face against the side of John's head.  
  
"No, just... oh, God... go tell Greg or Mike we need a few more minutes."  
  
"Two minutes," Sherlock said, deftly working open the buttons and flies of John's trousers. "It'll be cutting it close, plus you're nervous which might delay things but the thrill of possibly being caught coupled with the emotions you're going through at the prospect of finally making our union official and permanent will likely work in our favour." Sherlock crouched down in front of John, his knees sticking out to the sides like a praying mantis.  
  
"I don't... Fuck, that's- I'm not having it off in a church." John's actions belied his words as he helpfully lifted his shirt out of the way so Sherlock could shimmy his trousers partway down his thighs.  
  
"It's this or make everyone wait, which will make them think we're having sex anyway. Might as well actually have sex, it's a win-win," Sherlock said, sounding smug.  
  
John, defeated, hung his head and squeezed his eyes shut as Sherlock delicately maneuvered his underwear out of the way to unveil his now fully engorged penis. It stood out thick and red from his body, veins bulging and giving it a marbled appearance.  
  
"This is precisely why they say it's bad luck for the bride and groom to see each other before the wedding," John panted.  
  
"Mmm, good thing there are no brides in sight then because this is certainly my lucky day," Sherlock quipped before slipping John's penis into his mouth, guiding it with one hand. With the other, he grasped John's hip to maintain his balance.  
  
John's hand automatically found its way to Sherlock's head, where his fingers buried themselves in the carefully arranged waves.  
  
The strains of organ music became audible, muffled by the closed door.  
  
"Oh God, they're starting." John's voice was laced with both tension and arousal, and his hips rocked gently forward and back, matching Sherlock's movements as he applied himself with focus and enthusiasm to his task.  
  
The only sounds that followed for the next minute or so were the wet _glisk-glisk_ of saliva-slickened flesh and the ever more frantic susurrations of the air entering and leaving John's lungs.  
  
Sherlock knew what John liked, and he used that knowledge to cunning advantage now, giving the sensitive ridge around his glans most of his attention with his tongue and a hint of teeth while he slid his hand rapidly back and forth along John's shaft, keeping the pressure light so as not to chafe him without any lubrication beyond some sweat and the dribbles of spit leaking out of his mouth. When he felt John's arse tightening and the movements of his hips becoming more jerky and uncontrolled, he pulled back just enough to work the tip of his tongue against John's slit, trying to burrow inside the impossibly small hole while his hand virtually flew over John's length.  
  
John whined and bit down hard on his lower lip, his back curled in and his abdominal muscles starting to clench, and Sherlock immediately engulfed John's penis in the wet heat of his mouth once more, sucking it as far back as it would go, curling his tongue around it and hollowing his cheeks to give him as much pressure and contact as possible. John gasped and all of a sudden Sherlock's mouth was full of hot liquid, which he swallowed and gulped down as fast as he could. He couldn't quite stop himself from choking a bit, and he had to sit back, still in a crouch, and balance himself with one hand against the floor while he coughed and regained his breath.  
  
"Oh my God," John groaned, dropping down to his knees and wrapping Sherlock in an awkward one-armed embrace. "Oh my God, you're brilliant. My husband, fuck. I'm going to hold you all night. Stroke your hair and kiss you and write messages on your back." He rubbed Sherlock's back and kissed the top of his head while Sherlock got himself under control.  
  
Sherlock huffed out a laugh. "Maybe not all night," he allowed. "I did leave that formaldehyde thing going, should probably air things out at some point."  
  
John grinned. "Anything then. Anything you want. You can sleep on me till I've lost all feeling in my limbs. Foot rubs under the table."  
  
Sherlock looked up at John. His eyes were red and his hair resembled a bird's nest. "Dance with me," he said, his voice hoarse. "Afterwards, at the reception."  
  
John's blue eyes softened and took on a darker hue. "Of course. Was going to anyway. I mean, I've practised."  
  
"You have?" Sherlock seemed both surprised and pleased.  
  
"Mrs Hudson." John tilted his head toward the door. "Exotic dancer? I believe it."  
  
"John, please." Sherlock made a pained expression.  
  
John grinned sloppily and closed the distance between them to plant a closed-mouth kiss on Sherlock's lips. "I love you," he murmured into Sherlock's mouth.  
  
Sherlock's smile was bright and brilliant and full of delight. "I know. Let's go get married."


End file.
